


Family Indeed

by MelyndaR



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyndaR/pseuds/MelyndaR
Summary: Sherlock gets custody of the young nephew he never knew he had, and from there his life - and his emotions towards the child and a certain pathologist - only manage to get farther away from what he'd expected. (originally posted on 1/12/15 on FF.net)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

"So she's dead, then?" Sherlock asked Mycroft disinterestedly as they both stood in his home, the infamous 221B Baker Street.

"That's generally what's meant when one is said to have been in a _fatal_ car accident, Sherlock."

In that same utterly careless tone, Sherlock answered, "Alright, then. Is there any further reason for this unexpected visit of yours?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he looked at his brother, adding, "You'll be required at the reading of her will this Thursday."

"Whatever in the world for?" Sherlock snorted. "We haven't spoken to her since our brother's funeral, and that was over two years ago."

"Just barely, and I have been led to believe that Francine has left to you something of great importance to her."

Sherlock snorted once again, saying, "I doubt that quite highly; the only thing that was ever important to our sister-in-law was what she saw in the mirror."

" _Our sister-in-law_ isn't a week passed on; you really ought to show more respect for the deceased."

"Perhaps if they would've showed their faces more instead of moving to misery."

"It's _Missouri,_ and I highly suspect that you would not have appreciated the increased presence of any human being, let alone that of your own family members," Mycroft smirked.

"Which is why I must ever so regretfully ask you to leave," Sherlock answered drolly. "I have a new case, and thus an engagement in the morgue within the hour. Goodbye, Mycroft."

"Promise me you'll be at the will reading in Saint Louis," Mycroft demanded.

"Fine," Sherlock agreed with a long-suffering sigh. "I shall be in awful misery on Thursday, as requested."

Mycroft nodded before taking his leave. Sherlock waited a quarter of an hour and then started towards the morgue.

John met him at the entrance to Molly's morgue, declaring, "You look aggravated."

"Mycroft."

"What's he done this time?"

Sherlock pushed open the door to the morgue as he answered, "Our brother's widow died earlier this week and it appears that my presence is an utter necessity at the reading of the will this upcoming Thursday."

"Sherrinford had a wife?" John inquired. "And, of course, I'm sorry for your loss."

The subject of Sherlock and Myrcoft's "other brother" was a practically untouched one, even after five years of working so closely together, so John treaded carefully.

Molly Hooper, however, had no such reservations, and asked with an innocent cheerfulness, "Who's Sherrinford and his wife? Another case?"

"Sherrinford and Francine are both deceased relations," Sherlock answered smoothly. "And she's not really a loss, John; I hadn't seen her in two years, and it was a good eight years between visits before that."

"Roads work two ways, you know," John pointed out.

"Not when I have so many things to do here."

"Still, they were your brother and sister-in-law."

"I would much rather be in yours and Mary's company by comparison – if I had to choose someone to socialize with."

John muttered under his breath, "Thanks, I think," and then asked in a tone meant to be heard, "Anyway, what's so bloody hard about listening to a lawyer ramble for a couple of hours?"

"I have to travel to Saint Louis, misery, to do it, apparently."

Molly stopped in front of John and Sherlock with the body that they needed to view on a cart, and suggested while pulling the sheet back, "I think you mean 'Missouri,' don't you?"

"I know what I'm saying," Sherlock answered her irritably.

He scanned the body as it was unveiled and then said, "John, kindly tell Lestrade the murderer was this man's partner on the software project at his job. I am going to go back to Baker Street and try to find a way out of this trip to America." And so saying he walked out of the morgue with John trailing him.

"How in the world can you tell that?!"John yelped. "You barely looked at the poor man!"

"I would love to explain it to you, John, truly, but I really must find a way out of travelling abroad, so kindly excuse me."

"Sherlock," John suddenly moved to stand in front of Sherlock, forcing the sociopath to halt as the war veteran said a bit desperately, "Listen, little Shirley is sick, and I would really, _really_ love an afternoon out of the house, if you wouldn't mind perhaps making this case take just a _little_ bit longer somehow."

"Away from the family on a Saturday afternoon? For shame, John Watson," Sherlock smiled teasingly before brushing past him and continuing towards the exit.

John stayed in the hallway, watching Sherlock go, and called after him, "That's not funny, Sherlock Holmes! Believe me, if you ever become a father, you'll understand, and _I_ will stand back and laugh at _you_!"

"I will never become a father, John," Sherlock answered with certainty before the hospital doors closed behind him.

* * *

"What do you mean, 'custody'?" Sherlock yelped the following Thursday, surging to his feet in a law office in Saint Louis, Missouri. "Sherrinford and Francine didn't even have a child!"

"I beg to differ, Mr. Holmes," the lawyer, Mr. Franklin, replied mildly. "Francine Holmes was two months pregnant at the time of your brother's death, if I understand correctly. If you didn't keep in frequent contact with your brother and sister-in-law, then perhaps you never heard the news. In any account, your lack of knowledge on the subject doesn't altar Mrs. Holmes will; you _are_ Daniel Holmes' guardian."

"I'm a sociopath!"

Mr. Franklin answered calmly, "I am not in a position to do anything more or less than see that Daniel's parent's wishes regarding his custody are honored. After you assume custody of the child, what happens to him then is outside of my control or concern."

"Mycroft," Sherlock cried, looking desperately at his brother who sat across from him at the table. "You're supposed to be important, right? Then do something to make this go away!"

"The baby's parents are dead, Mr. Holmes, not Daniel," Mr. Franklin said, a new edge creeping into his voice as he spoke. "He is a helpless one-year-old, and he will not be _going away_ any time soon. You are his guardian. I even went the extra mile for you to see to it that Daniel could legally leave the country by the end of our meeting here. He will be returning with you to London on your flight. Congratulations, Mr. Holmes, it appears that you have become a father."


	2. Chapter 2

"This has got to be some sick joke," Sherlock said in near disgust, looking down at the redheaded baby boy who was blinking up at him with wide blue eyes from the infant car seat that Sherlock had shoved into his older brother's hands. "What in the bloody-"

"Little ears, brother," Mycroft chided drily from where they stood together, waiting to board their plane back to London – this time with Daniel in tow.

The fact that Sherlock couldn't tell whether or not Mycroft was kidding only served to frustrate him further, and he asked, "Well, what am I supposed to do with him?!"

"I don't suppose the Watsons would be interested in adopting a child, would they?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Shirley's sick at the moment, and only two years old to begin with, which makes it a horrible time to suggest an adoption, no matter how good of an idea it is."

"You're not going to put him in a children's home or foster care, are you?" Mycroft asked warily, as if he himself wasn't sure what he thought of the idea.

Sherlock just sighed before answering, "I only got the little monster handed to me earlier today; don't ask me to make a rash decision."

"Since when are you not rash?!"

"I'm _trying_ to care about another human being here!"

_Board flight 17 to London. Take off in five minutes. Last call. Flight 17 to London, take off in five minutes. Last call to board._

"Sherlock is being considerate of his dependent? Miracle of miracles!" Mycroft answered just as sharply as his brother while they found their seats aboard the plane.

When the voice of the man holding him hit a dangerous pitch, Daniel let loose on a wail, and both Holmes brothers swore then.

"Look what you've done!" Sherlock accused darkly. "Make him shut up."

"How am I supposed to keep the bloody brat from crying? He's _your_ ward! We can't take him out of this blasted seat until after take-off, anyway."

"Brilliant," Sherlock muttered.

"Try giving him a bottle or something," Mycroft suggested.

"A bottle?"

"You _did_ buy baby things before we left, didn't you?!"

"Why would I have done that?"

"Because he's your nephew, ward, and responsibility, and you've got to start thinking about doing what's best for him!"

"Sociopath's aren't exactly renowned for being good at that, Mycroft! Besides, when we picked him up from his foster mum's, I just simply signed the necessary papers; you're the one who's been taking care of him the whole time!"

"Well, that stops now!" Mycroft declared sharply, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes as if he intended to take a nap.

 _Good luck with that_ , Sherlock thought. He would need it, considering that when the plane roared to life and took off, Daniel began full-scale howling in his car seat which had been buckled in beside Sherlock's own seat while Mycroft had gotten smart and taken the seat across the aisle.

"I should've thought of that," Sherlock muttered to himself, trying unsuccessfully to tune out Daniel's terrified shrieking.

Once an irritated salesman sitting behind Sherlock kicked the back of his seat and gave him a death glare, the Brit sighed in resignation and, fighting with his own healthy dose of terror, managed to unbuckle Daniel from his car seat and clumsily take him in his arms.

"Come on, hush now," Sherlock demanded, bouncing the infant in a way that was more jostling than the rocking that he was trying to achieve. "It's alright; you can shut up now."

"Would you like some help, dear?"

Sherlock snapped his head up towards the owner of the voice and found himself looking at an absolutely tiny old Asian lady with kind eye dwarfed by glasses that had come from the eighties – and he didn't hesitate to answer her question with a resounding, "Yes."

"Here," she said from where she sat in the seat in front of him. "Hand him to me."

Again, Sherlock didn't hesitate, watching as the woman cradled the little boy into her shoulder and spoke soft words into his ear. The man was stunned when Daniel quieted almost instantly – and not only did he stop crying, but he fell asleep in a matter of minutes. The woman smiled first at Daniel asleep in her arms and then at Sherlock as she tried to offer the boy to him again, but Sherlock only shook his head.

"You can hold him. You can _have_ him," Sherlock declared.

The woman laughed. "No, thanks. I've already had four kids; I'd rather leave this to you younger people. I'm Sue Kong. Is this your first child?"

"He's my… nephew," Sherlock thought back to Mycroft's tirade, adding, "… and responsibility… and ward. It's really too long of a story. It is, I suspect, his first time on a plane, and my first time travelling with anything who's number of years on this earth does not reside soundly in the double digits."

"So you're both feeling overwhelmed after a stressful day and feeding off of one another," Ms. Kong surmised.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, asking, "Can infants do that? 'Feed off of' the emotions of others? It makes babies sound parasitic."

Ms. Kong's eyes widened ever so slightly with surprise at his comparison, but she answered, "Yes, they can and do. Little ones are actually very perceptive that way."

"How irritating that must be."

"How so?"

"To be able to care so very much about what your elders are thinking."

"I've always considered it a part of their way of learning about this strange world we've thrust them into when they were born."

"It must be irritating to the child's minder as well, though."

"Maybe if the baby's a sympathetic crier," Ms. Kong allowed. "But I think even that just shows that these little ones are smart and that they care about their fellow human beings."

Sherlock rather doubted that logic, but he didn't say so. This Ms. Kong was doing remarkably well with Daniel at present, so he had to wonder if perhaps she was right. A smart child he could obviously deal with, but a caring one?

He just sighed and looked out the window, waiting for this ride to be over.


	3. Chapter 3

But that plane ride was just the tip of the iceberg. By the time Sherlock and Mycroft were leaving the airport, Daniel had once again awakened and had defaulted to crying. Mycroft seized the opportunity when he saw it and turned the baby over to Sherlock car seat and all the moment a taxi cab stopped to pick the sociopath up.

"Goodbye and good luck," Mycroft said cheerfully as he slipped down into his own car.

"No," Sherlock said sharply. "No, no, no! You absolutely _cannot_ leave me here with this little terror."

"He seems to me to actually be a very good child, Sherlock; you'll be fine. Get to Baker Street and hand him over to Mrs. Hudson for minding, and all will be perfectly fine."

Watching his brother drive away, Sherlock nearly screamed in frustration before he remembered Mrs. Kong's warning about Daniel mirroring his own emotions. So he kept his mouth shut and dropped down into the cab with the baby in tow, having no idea how to calm the little monster down. It took forty-five minutes to get to his flat from the airport, and by then Sherlock, Daniel, and quite possibly even the cabbie were all very near losing their minds.

At least Sherlock had thought to gather the troops, as it were, though, while he was still headed towards his residence.

Calling John was always a good first step to solving any crisis. When Sherlock had explained the situation, John had voiced his shock in amongst a few choice words before promising that both he and Mary would be at the flat when he got there to help him with Daniel.

"John, wait!" Sherlock said the second before John hung up the phone. "Perhaps you ought to go to the store instead; I am afraid I forgot to pick up anything for him."

"You don't have a single thing for him?"

"No."

"You didn't even see to it that he had proper food?"

"No!" Sherlock snapped. "Why is everyone so bloody hung up on that?!"

"Because it's important!" John took a deep breath to reign in any possible fit of temper, and then continued, "Alright then, it sounds like me and Mary will be going to the store instead and getting things for you to set up parenthood." Sherlock growled, Daniel screamed, and John asked, "Are you sure you'll be alright there with just you and Mrs. Hudson taking care of him for that long? Molly has a niece, I think; maybe you ought to call and ask her to meet you at Baker Street."

"Very well," Sherlock agreed before hanging up with John and doing as he had suggested.

The woman in question answered the phone upon his call with a simple, "Molly Hooper."

"Molly, I am in absolutely dire straits. I need you to go to Baker Street and meet me there when my cab arrives."

"Are you alright? Ill? What is that terrible noise?" Molly fired off the questions anxiously, and Sherlock answered in monosyllables.

"No, no, and child."

"Child?" Molly repeated. "In the cab with you?"

Sherlock sighed and relayed the story to her like he had just done to John.

Once he was through, Molly asked instantly, a blessed voice of calm in the cacophony, "How far away are you from your flat?"

"Sixteen minutes," Sherlock ascertained by looking out the cab window.

"I can be there in fifteen," Molly replied.

"Alright," Sherlock agreed, moving to hang up his cell.

"Sherlock?" Molly said, stopping him.

"Yes?"

"I can hear you panicking. Don't. Everything will be fine for you and Daniel, you'll see. I promise you, Sherlock Holmes. If you can capture Moriarty no less than _twice,_ then you can do this."

Sherlock paused before saying in a voice only loud enough that it could barely be heard over Daniel's screaming, "Thank you, Molly Hooper."

There was a smile in the pathologist's voice as she replied, "You're welcome, Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

"Oh my goodness, Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson cried when she saw her tenant come in the door with a screaming infant. "What in the world are you doing with that baby?!"

"He's my nephew," Sherlock called over the noise of Daniel's protests as he dropped the car seat onto the kitchen table.

Mrs. Hudson stood from her chair and began rocking the car seat Daniel was in, in an effort to calm him as she asked, "What's wrong with him?"

"I have no idea!" Sherlock cried.

Molly came tumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen then, wide-eyed as she asked, "Is he hungry?"

"I believe his nappy needs a changing," Mrs. Hudson remarked, and despite the baby screaming in her ear she was amused to see the famous detective pale as if his death sentence had been pronounced.

"Here, Mrs. Hudson, let me," Molly said, stepping between the landlady and the car seat as she realized that the woman was struggling to free the child from his car seat's restraints. "Why, hello, little one," she cooed as she took the boy into her arms. "Let's see if we can't get you more comfortable, alright?" She looked up at Sherlock, asking, "Where's his diaper bag?"

"He doesn't exactly… have one," Sherlock confessed, suddenly shifting uncomfortable from foot to foot as he looked away from the pathologist. "Yet! But John and Mary are currently out rectifying that situation."

"Well, we can't just leave the poor thing like this!" Mrs. Hudson objected.

"No, of course not; he'll get a rash if we do," Molly said, apparently taking charge of the situation. "Mrs. Hudson, do you have a raggedy towel that I could use? And a safety pin or two? Sherlock, go find something for Daniel to eat."

Sherlock darted gratefully up to his flat and Mrs. Hudson obediently hunted around her kitchen until she came up with the desired items and handed them to Molly, who hurried up to Sherlock's flat with Daniel and the things in her arms. The baby had now exhausted himself again, reduced to weepy red eyes, draining nose, and the occasional hiccup as Molly closed the door to the flat and carried him into the bathroom. She knelt on the tile floor and carefully lowered Daniel onto the floor in front of her, undoing his onesie and divesting him of the offending nappy. She'd tossed it into the garbage bin and was doing a reasonable job of repurposing the towel and safety pins into a cloth nappy when Sherlock came over to stand in the doorway.

His eyebrows drew together at the unusual sight of a child in his flat, let alone one who's nappy was being changed, as he informed Molly, or rather the top of her head, as she was still below him with her back turned to him, "I've found a can of green beans, if that will suffice?"

"Perfect," Molly said, taking a deep breath as she took Daniel in arms once again and stood to her feet, turning towards Sherlock. "So long as he likes them, that is. Lead the way to your nephew's dinner, Uncle Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and made a noise of displeasure in the back of his throat, but turned obediently towards the kitchen. He was already feeling calmer, since there was someone obviously much more capable than him here and taking over the situation. Daniel was calming, so Sherlock was calming down as well. Maybe Ms. Kong had been onto something there after all…


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you dead yet, Sherlock? Or have you just gotten this whole thing over with and killed the child before he suffers too dearly?"

"John Watson!"

"Well! It is awfully quiet considering there's supposed to be a baby here somewhere."

"He's eating in the kitchen," Sherlock said dryly, stepping around the wall from said room to the flat's entryway as he interrupted John and Mary's dialogue. "Rather happily, I believe. It appears that Molly's made friends with him or something of the like."

"Well," Mary said teasingly, walking past the two men and into the kitchen with her arms loaded with bags full of baby items. "Of course he's enjoying the company of a pretty girl."

Sherlock scoffed under his breath, nowhere near willing to have Molly insulted – or pettily hurt – by him when she was being such a savior in this sudden, horrid situation.

John went in for a jab of his own as he asked his friend under his breath, "What? Like you haven't noticed that she's pretty."

"You are a married man, John Watson."

"And you are not married or blind," John answered pointedly before changing the subject with a "help me with all of this stuff, will you?"

Sherlock obliged, taking a couple of the bags off of his old flat mate as he asked, feeling slightly horrified, "How much did you buy?!"

"Mary went a little overboard on the baby clothes for a minute," John admitted. "And the cot's still going to be delivered here in a bit yet."

"Good grief," Sherlock muttered. "What am I? It's like you think I'm setting up housekeeping with this... this…" Sherlock couldn't think of any new nouns that he hadn't already employed earlier in the day, so ended lamely, "Daniel."

John looked at him with mild surprise, asking, "Well, aren't you?"

This frank question from his friend startled Sherlock a little, forcing him to see the potential for this situation's permanency as he looked at the numerous grocery bags. Sherlock counted them, realizing that he held two, John still had four, and Mary had brought in at least as many as her husband. And they were discussing things like _cots_ too now – a big, hulking thing that he had no idea where to put in his flat, which was still certainly the absolute _least_ of his problems at the moment.

A sudden unfamiliar giggle from the kitchen tore Sherlock out of his own head and back into reality with a jolt, and he and John both peered around the kitchen doorway to see if the noisemaker was who they thought it was. Molly was sitting in a chair at the table with Daniel in her lap, and Mary was sitting in another chair beside them, running her fingertips across the soles of Daniel's feet – hence the laughter had come from the child; a noise which in turn made Molly and Mary burst into their own fits of giggles.

"Really, Sherlock," John repeated in a low voice so that the women couldn't hear. "What _are_ you going to do about all of this?"

"Hire someone, I suppose," Sherlock mused. "It's not like I'm hard pressed to afford it."

"Hire what sort of someone? A nanny to take care of him while his new 'daddy' is out on cases? A social worker to find him an adoptive family instead of this? What, Sherlock?!"

"I don't bloody _know_ , John!"Sherlock snapped, louder than he had meant to.

"Then you'll still need a nanny for now, then," Mary called out to the two men, eyeing what she could see of Sherlock's agitated expression from where she sat at the kitchen table.

Sherlock glared at her out of the corner of his eye, not turning towards her while pointing a finger at Mary and ordering sharply, "Stop it. Stop trying to deduce my thought processes on this situation, because believe me, you won't be able to – not when I don't even know my own bloody thoughts about it. You've never seen through me like that before, and you won't be able to start now, Mrs. Watson."

"Don't snap at my wife because you're having a bad day," John demanded.

Molly, who had faded into the background a bit in the midst of Sherlock's harshness, spoke up with a surprising amount of confidence as she asked Sherlock, "Do you want to know what I think you're thinking?"

At this, Sherlock turned towards the pathologist, eyes blown wide with sarcasm as he tried to conceal what was very closely bordering on panic. "Oh, please, do tell, Miss Hooper."

Molly stood from her chair and approached Sherlock as she began to speak, Daniel still in her arms. "I think that you… there is a part of you… that wants to keep him. There was a flash of that in your eyes when you looked in here and saw him laughing. You… softened a bit."

"That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said to me," Sherlock declared, chuckling dryly.

"Ridiculous?" Molly repeated, looking totally undeterred as she continued to slowly carry Daniel closer. "Probably." She stopped in front of Sherlock, looking up at him with a small smile of triumph playing about the corners of her mouth. "But still, not wrong."

Sherlock growled irritably in the back of his throat, glaring at her with dark eyes, put out that she had noticed the moment when that thought had slipped through his head – that she could read him _so bloody well_.

Molly's grin just widened – she'd apparently taken his displeasure as a signal of the correctness of her observations – and she ordered him, "Here, hold your nephew."

She tried handing Daniel over to him, but Sherlock stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest, still glaring.

"Which one of you is the one-year-old here?!" Molly asked in sudden exasperation. "Take him!"

And she held Daniel out to Sherlock, hands under his armpits and let the boy hang there in the air between them. Sherlock smirked when he noticed that she was ever so slowly releasing him, not believing that she'd let Daniel fall to the floor. But her hold on the boy became less and less, loosening bit by bit and when Daniel bucked suddenly backwards, Sherlock found his hands instinctively shooting out to take him in his arms in the second before his nephew dropped to the hardwood.

"See!" Molly said cheerfully. "I knew you cared!"

"I don't care to have to pay for any unnecessary medical bills because he was dropped on his head," Sherlock replied coolly, trying to settle Daniel more comfortably in his arms.

"No," Molly contradicted. "You care about him."

"I never said I didn't," Sherlock finally replied as his nephew burrowed into his shoulder.

Because he suddenly realized that he did care about Daniel. Now he just had to figure out how to take care _of_ him.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock asked suddenly as the idea came upon him, "Do you think that Mrs. Hudson would be willing to care for Daniel while I'm working? Mycroft mentioned her, and she really doesn't do much, does she?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has a life, Sherlock," John said a little drily. "And if you're going to ask her to become your nanny, I wouldn't imply that she doesn't. It might be taken as a bit insulting."

"Of course I'll be polite about it, John," Sherlock said impatiently. "I'm not _that_ inept."

Mrs. Hudson poked her head into his flat just then, saying, "The cot's arrived, Sherlock."

"Wonderful," Mary answered. "You boys can take care of that, can't you?"

"Ah…" Sherlock looked a little helplessly at his nephew in his arms.

Seeing his predicament, Molly scooped the boy back into her arms with a "here, give him to me, Uncle Sherlock."

"Did I hear you say my name before I came in, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked him.

"Yes, actually," Sherlock replied, turning from Molly to face his landlady. "I believe the conclusion has been reached that I ought to try my hand at bringing up my nephew, since I am the guardian that Sherrinford and Francine desired him to be handed over to in the event of their deaths. However, that requires having a minder for him who's capable of holding hours that are as unpredictable as my own. For that you seem to be the first and favorite candidate – if you are willing?"

Mrs. Hudson beamed at him. "Of course I am, Sherlock! I may not be your housekeeper, but I'm more than willing to look after that good little nephew of yours – with an added fee to your rent, of course."

"Of course," Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Cot's waiting for us outside, Sherlock," John spoke up.

"Right," Sherlock said, weaving past Mrs. Hudson and following John down the stairs.

"Where are we going to put him?" John asked as the two men carried the box of parts up the stairs a minute later. "Is my old room a good option?"

"I think there may still be enough space for the cot between all the books and experiments, yes," Sherlock answered.

John winced at the thought as he shouldered open the door to the flat and took the familiar path to his old bedroom, the box being carried between him and Sherlock. The two of them set the box down in the predicted circle of cleared floor space and took all of the pieces out. They sat down in the middle of it all and Sherlock handed John the instructions.

Sherlock suggested, "Why don't you read these?"

John agreed, and once Sherlock was certain his friend was going to be sufficiently distracted for awhile, the sociopath set to work unassisted. Even blocking out John's voice as the doctor read and Sherlock worked, the cot was put together by the time John finally looked up from the instructions.

"What are you doing?" John asked in surprise.

"Finishing tightening the last screws on the cot," Sherlock answered casually.

John slapped down the instructions, declaring with an edge of frustration in his voice, "I can see that. Do you have any idea how long it took me to put together Shirley's cot?!"

"As I recall, you worked on it for an hour without me before Mary thought to call me in to do it for you."

John frowned, informing him sourly, "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Sherlock smirked.

John muttered, "Well, at least we know you can put together cots for Daniel. But what else can you do to care for him?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and saw the moment of regret flash through John's eyes when he realized he'd hit a newly formed nerve. "What else indeed. I suppose I'll have to figure that out, won't I?"

"You'll have our help, you know," John reminded him. "Mrs. Hudson will be a wonderful nanny, and Mary and I will be on call if you need something, the same as always. And Molly seems to have fallen in love with Daniel…" John looked at Sherlock a bit pointedly as he added, "She's fallen in love with more than just Daniel, if you ask me."

Sherlock sighed, replying, "I know that."

"And what about you?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he assessed his friend.

"What about me?"

"Do _you_ love _Molly_? And I don't care what Mary thinks, I can tell when you're lying, so don't try it."

"I don't know," Sherlock answered honestly. "She's been such a great help to me through the years – but so have you. You're my best friend, John, and Molly – and even Mary – are close seconds to that. I know that she would be more than happy to allow our relationship to become closer than that, but there is a very large part of me that thinks it wouldn't work for me to be in a relationship with anyone ever, and an even bigger part that can acknowledge that even if it could work, Molly deserves someone who could better understand her."

"Sherlock, you read human beings better than anyone else on this planet!"

"But not when it comes to emotions, to – as Mary pointed out when we met – human nature. Molly is a very emotional person, and I am not. Despite the fact that she surrounds herself with death, there is still something very alive and innocent about Molly, and I'm... a machine. At the very least, John, I don't want to hurt her with my callousness, unintended though it often is when it comes to her."

"And that right there says something! That you care enough about her to leave her alone rather than chancing hurting her? That's a big statement. But… has it occurred to you that you're hurting her just by leaving her alone? Mate, I'm sorry, but she loves you, and she wants you to – newsflash – acknowledge what we both know you already know: _you love Molly too._ If your smart-aleck little jabs, thoughtless remarks, and inclinations towards utter social incompetence haven't driven her on to someone else by now, then they're not going to. I think you need to get that through your thick skull, get your act together, and ask her out already." John threw up his hands, adding a final remark of, "Just saying."

"Well, please don't," Sherlock answered dryly. "I don't need to be thinking about that right now. Figuring out life with Daniel comes first, and then – maybe – Molly."


	6. Chapter 6

Priorities.

Sherlock had figured out before the end of that first day with Daniel that his priorities were going to have to shift and change to fit his nephew's needs above his own – and, just like everything in this new situation he found himself in, that had been hard at first. Only, he'd woken up one morning to realize that for the first time since coming to London, poor Daniel – who had been having a rough time adjusting – had actually slept throughout the entire night. Funny the things a floundering man could find hope in. Then, when he took time to actually think about it, he realized that he really wasn't floundering too terribly much anymore, thanks to the predicted help of the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson, and – the biggest constant of all at Sherlock's side throughout this – Molly.

And as time continued to go on, in the rare moments when he would slow down enough to think it through, he realized that it was only getting better. Daniel was getting better adjusted – as was Sherlock to caring for him, for that matter – and then there was that little niggling matter of Molly…

Of an evening, after he had put Daniel to bed, once the flat was quiet for the night, he took out his violin and considered her while he stared out the window and played his instrument.

Molly, who had become a million things more than the pathologist. Molly, who truly had become his closest confidant and partner in caring for Daniel – his sanity and his strength and his breath of fresh air whenever he felt he was about to suffocate. Molly, who helped him make sense of one of the few things in the world that still managed to baffle him – human emotions and caring. Molly… for whom he now cared very deeply.

Sherlock almost dropped his violin as that last thought hit him. Where on earth had that even come from?!

Of course, he reasoned silently, he had long been friendly towards Molly Hooper – since his return anyway – and, yes, she held a special place in his heart – but so did John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson, in their own ways! So what if John seemed to think that Sherlock was "in love" with Molly Hooper, that didn't mean John had to be right, did it? Certainly not!

But did it have to mean that John was wrong….?

Sherlock settled his violin carefully back against his chin and resumed playing, his mind a thousand miles away from the music as he thought this through. No, John didn't _have_ to be wrong, but he didn't have to be _right_ either. So which was he? What was the evidence gathered from both sides of that argument, and to what did that evidence truly point?

Was he in love with Molly Hooper, or wasn't he?

The more he thought, the more memories he came up with. Molly asking him out on coffee all those years ago (oh, yes, he'd known what she was doing); Molly reaching out to him so many times; Molly calling his bluff when Moriarty came around the first time; Molly helping him fake his death and ease back into life here after his resurgence. Molly making him apologize – on more than one occasion. The fact that Molly made him _willing_ to apologize _on his own and without prompting_.

She brought out the best in him; she'd always been there for him – perhaps recently more than ever before – and he suddenly realized that he couldn't have done it without Molly. He couldn't have survived Moriarty, and he certainly couldn't have survived having a child in his flat – to say nothing of how quickly Daniel might have perished without her endlessly present, ever-helpful assistance. Daniel absolutely loved her. And maybe... just maybe… so did Sherlock.

This admittance – even just in his own mind – plunged Sherlock into a new level of concentration as he tried to decipher what exactly to think of the idea. When on earth had he gone and fallen in love with Molly Hooper to the point that he – he could admit it – needed her and couldn't even imagine his life without her?

The first thing that came to mind was when she'd helped him fake his death, and when he thought he realized that was when things had started; when the first signs had appeared. Those were the things John had picked up on and Sherlock had largely ignored – at least until now. Now the thought of depending on her that much – realizing that he already _did_ depend on her that much – left him half terrified and half exhilarated. And he wanted to do something about it.

Without even thinking about the late hour, he whipped out his phone and texted her: _Can you come over?_

Within sixty seconds he received the reply: _Something wrong with Daniel?_

Sherlock typed a reply, took a deep breath, and hit send. _He's sleeping; I want to talk._

_Everything okay?_

_I'd rather discuss it face to face._

_Be there in twenty minutes._

Sherlock smiled, shoving his phone back in his pocket and returning to playing his violin. His ever-faithful Molly was going to be here in twenty minutes… and then what? Then he would…? Sherlock inhaled deeply settling his resolve as he decided. He would declare his love for her and let her do with it whatever she would. There was little else he could do.

And he didn't know _what_ he would do if she rebuffed him! He had never actually thought to consider Molly as a family member of his. In his mind, Mrs. Hudson was a maternal figure, John and Mary had become something of surrogate siblings, and Mycroft was still… just Mycroft. Unlike the people Sherlock had _chosen_ to be in his life, Mycroft hadn't made any attempts at helping with Daniel, and neither had his and Mycroft's parents, come to think of it. He had come to rely on the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly – hugely so. Those four people were the members of what he considered to be his real family.

So he was starting to think that it was time to label Molly as being somewhere in that family as well. Maybe… girlfriend?

* * *

_One year later; Mother's Day_

"Molly?" Sherlock called out as he stepped into his flat with Daniel. "We're home!" Molly appeared from down the hall as Sherlock added, "Daniel and I got something for you while we were out."

"Oh?" Molly asked curiously, a small smile lighting her face as she pecked Sherlock on the lips before asking, "And what's that?"

Sherlock knelt down beside Daniel and whispered in the little boy's ear, "Can you show Aunt Molly what we got her?"

Daniel beamed and eagerly tugged the small gift-wrapped box out of his pocket, handing it to the woman in question. Sherlock stayed down on one knee, an arm wrapped around Daniel as Molly unwrapped the gift.

Seeing the black velvet ring box that soon lay uncovered in her hands, Molly froze, looking to Sherlock with wide eyes as she murmured his name with hopeful shock.

Daniel burst out with the line that Sherlock had told him to repeat upon seeing Molly, "Will you marry us, Aunt Molly?"

Sherlock's nephew had no idea what the word's actually meant, but his girlfriend had every idea, and she burst into tears – tears Sherlock could now realize as joyful ones – as she shook her head emphatically. "Yes! Absolutely!"

Sherlock jumped onto his feet and took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly before he wrapped one arm around her and scooped Daniel into the other, just taking them in with blissful happiness. These two people before him were his family indeed.


End file.
